


Infection

by Estrea



Category: Morning Musume.
Genre: F/F, Femme Fatale, Infection, This is not a Hollywood movie...maybe
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-04
Updated: 2014-11-04
Packaged: 2018-02-24 02:18:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,820
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2564678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Estrea/pseuds/Estrea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The year is 2025. The parasitic organism known only as Root has spread like a religion to fevered adherents, invading the human hosts and coexisting with them. An unknown but significant portion of humanity has succumbed to this infection, though most feel little different after.</p><p>What is Root and what does it want? Is it a threat to humanity, or simply the next stage in evolution? Stay tuned and find out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Infection

Every movement needed a public face, and I was it.

 

Confident, glamorous, capable of charming the pants off a miserly bachelor who didn’t even care to retain the services of household help. Good-looking to boot, if I may say so myself.

 

I finished my speech on a triumphant note, gauging at a glance the number of uplifted faces tilted in worshipful silence. They hung on my every word, or should I say, the force behind my words? Part of it was my own eloquence, yes, but even as my lips moved I could feel more than hear the sibilant susurration of something _other_ , drawing the prey closer, making them receptive…

 

The power of my words paired with the hypnotic suggestion. It lulled the weak-minded, eroded the wills of the common folk, and it took repeated exposure to wear down the stubborn. Some, of course, required a little more direct persuasion…

 

_“K-kudo-san…”_

_“Such a cute girl...are you afraid of me?”_

_“N-not at all…”_

_“Don’t be afraid, come, why don't we have some tea…”_

 

I was Chosen, one of the Elect. Among the first to accept the gift, though mine had yet to manifest in the ways that marked the Chosen -- ways that would have invited fear and revulsion, rejection by the sheer otherworldiness of it all.

 

People did not understand or like the unknown. So I kept my face, the cherubic smile more deadly than the mirror sheen of the Warrior-Elect, at least when it came to maintaining excellent public relations. I was among the first, and so was marked in different ways from those came after. It was a point of pride, a privilege, almost. But pride was a thing that had to be subsumed. For the greater whole. For the Root.

 

Another recruitment drive, more speeches, the light touch of _imprimature_ laid in a hazy cobweb of compulsion and suggestion. I was the honey in the trap. Our kind was patient. We could wait. And even as we waited, we grew.

 

I could feel it, deep within me, the branching of our Root. The Root needed to spread, to diffuse, to -- pardon me -- take root in as many hosts as possible, that the Root may flourish, and us along with it. But we did not take by force. No, that is not our way.

 

Instead, we burrow. We take the course of least resistance. We probe and explore and spread, slowly encroaching, the sea that erodes the cliff of mankind.

 

Though I do not manifest any of the usual gifts -- which range from mirror skin to gnarled growths embracing and insinuating around every muscle, strengthening it by proportion -- the Root in me ran far deeper than the cosmetic alterations of my later brethren.

 

I stood before a mirror in my private room, the standing glass large enough to reflect my full height. I had grown, far more than the doctors in my youth could ever have imagined. Sprouted like a young tree, if one could close an eye to the irony behind those words. Those doctors had known nothing, could have given me nothing at all.

 

No, I found my future and seized it. It is how I am standing tall here, a short mop of hair tousled in a just-out-of-bed look, eyes lazily lidded as I examined my own reflection. The top few buttons of my blouse were loose, revealing untainted skin and the curving arc of my collarbones....

 

“Nice bone structure.”

 

A laconic voice came from behind me, reminding me that I had a prior engagement. I do get so distracted with my own thoughts, and that mirror was no help. I turned on my heel, putting on my most charming smile at a would-be-adherent.

 

The girl did not look impressed, or at least, not as impressed as she should have been. She had caught my attention, being less than attentive despite my wildly successful speech -- weaker minds were already on the verge of tears, ready for induction into the Root. I don’t do things by halves, which was why I arranged for this personal interview with one clearly so resistant to our message of peace and brotherhood. My pride would allow no less.

 

“Care for a drink...Faye-san, was it?”

 

The smile that came my way was bland, and her eyes were almost lidded close in that motion. In effect, she looked a great deal like a cat sunning itself. Irrationally, I wondered where the claws were, but caught myself and poured us both a generous amount of champagne.

 

She took it gracefully, settling down primly at the edge of the wide expanse of bed that occupied much of the suite. One could almost think that unwise, drinking with an almost-stranger in a private room while sitting on a bed. I may not be a man, but I was almost fairly certain that my reputation had gotten ahead of me. And I must say, it was a reputation hard earned.

 

And yet, there she was, looking as at ease as if she had been in an outdoor cafe situated along a bustling street. No fear, not even the slightest apprehension, though I did catch the cautious cast in her eyes as they roved the room, occasionally even deigning to settle on me. Not just a foolhardy girl then. This might be interesting.

 

“I notice you didn’t seem very convinced by our message, Faye-san. And I would really love to discuss why, I am always most eager to learn the flaws in my thinking.”

 

I opened the topic almost directly, having made the requisite small talk in the lounge earlier, and on the way up. How did you think I even manage to charm a girl into my room? It wasn’t the first time, and it would hardly be the last. She had seemed far more interested in me (of course), than what I had had to say, but that was an advantage I never hesitated to exploit. I was given my face for a reason, and I intended to use it.

 

“I do understand the principles behind communal interest and subsuming one’s usefulness within a greater system that we may all grow and prosper. It is a rather....ironic throwback, if I must say so. Humanity has come up with it before, and look where it led.”

 

Ah, a thinker. And one who knew her history. My interest prickled -- no, more than my own, I felt the tingle creeping up my bones. The Root had heard, and was paying attention. Well, it was a show I could provide my brethren, if that was what they wished.

 

“Ah, but that which you speak of was a system that fails to take into account the human nature for self interest. They forced an external sense of equality without considering the innate drive for competition."

 

"Altruism never does come easily to everyone." She mused aloud, swirling her half filled glass idly while tapping a finger against the rim. "Isn't that so, Kudo-san?"

 

"Haruka is fine." I towered over her sitting form, but all she did was glance lazily up. Was that a spark of defiance I saw in those narrowly slitted eyes? I felt a crawling sensation down my spine and limbs, a writhing thrill presented by prime ground.

 

The Root wanted her. All that life, force of mind, composure in the face of the unknown. And so did I, to be perfectly honest. The Root did not discourage self interest. Self interest in service of the whole. Happy coincidence when those two coincide.

 

I sat by her, raising my own glass, and we clinked the rims, never once taking our eyes off each other. Something not unlike a smirk curled a corner of her mouth. We were a hand's span apart from each other when she spoke, politely shifting my hand off her knee (when had that gotten there anyway?).

 

"You're very...persuasive, Kudo-san. But I really must leave..." She made as if to stand, but I caught her by the hand, leaving her staring down at me. Her cheeks were vaguely flushed, from the alcohol or from me, I could not tell. I made a show of bringing her hand to my lips, brushing my lips to her knuckles briefly in a courtly gesture.

 

I felt her suck in a breath, and her hand in mine trembled. I smiled into her skin, soft and baby smooth as it was. I had her, whether she knew it or not.

 

"You don't play fair, Kudo-san."

 

"When is life ever fair?" I parried back lightly, running my thumb over her slender fingers. A ring of what appeared to be black glass encircled her ring finger, and I chuckled.

 

"You're not being fair to someone either, Faye-san."

 

We shared something of a conspiratorial smile, and I rose to my feet beside her. She seemed very small next to me, but no less cowed by the fact. Not an ounce of trepidation despite my overt attempts to seduce her, only a calculating sort of interest glinting in her eye. Truth be told, she intrigued me, and more than just for the purpose of seeding. Surely the Root would not begrudge me a little amusement before spreading the good word. If anything, she should be more receptive after I was done with her. It would hardly be the first time such a thing has occurred.

 

“I never kiss and tell.”

 

That was as much an invitation as any, and I leaned in, only to be halted by a finger to the lips. I opened my eyes and stared down at her, wondering when she had found the time to set down the champagne glass in her free hand. She had shifted her hand in mine, deftly reversing the grip such that she had my wrist locked. A mischievous glint shimmered in her eyes, so close to mine, and something rippled down my arm…

 

“You’re very attractive, Kudo-san, but I hardly know who...or what...you are.”

 

The rippling in my arm stopped abruptly, clenching in a way that could bruise bone, were such a thing possible. I looked down to see a faint glow emanating off the black surface of her ring, the ultraviolet illuminating the surface of my skin…

 

Revealing the tracery of lines deeply rooted within. Even without her making a more thorough sweep, I knew that the tracery would extend all the way up my arm and continue all across my body, a deeper Rooting than most others ever see. Anything less would not have worked.

 

“What is the meaning of this.” I kept my voice level, though my gritted teeth made it come out strained and spitting. I was faintly aware of the Root in me bunching, ready to send any threat flying away, but it calmed -- mildly -- as a soft finger brushed down from where it had been at my lips to trace the sweep of my collarbones.

 

“You tell me, Kudo-san…” She leaned into me like a lover, but never relaxed her iron grip on my trapped hand. It was odd, all things considered. I still had another free hand, provided I drop the glass in that hand. Or even better, I could smash it against her face, which could force her to release me. I did not like to hurt girls, but I would do so if she was here to threaten or hurt me.

 

“Faye-san…” I exhaled. “Or whoever you are, let me go.”

 

“Soon.” She smiled winsomely at me, her free hand still tracing distracting circles on my skin. Underneath, the Root writhed, invisible to the human eye, but surely the vibrations could be felt by those lithe fingers.

 

“Kudo Haruka, age 25. Born October 27, in a small hospital in Saitama. 15 years ago, an accident landed you back in the same hospital you were born. The doctors there patched you up handily, but within a week you were back again. And the week after that…”

 

“And I didn’t step back out again. Not on my own power.” I finished for her, my eyes cold. The Root was coiled and ready; I could break her neck before she could blink. She seemed oblivious to the danger, her smile not even wavering.

 

“No. You were dead, or supposed to have died. Your bones were too brittle. Even if you went through life carefully, you would not have lived long. At least not without severe handicapping.”

 

“What do you want from me?” I asked quietly. She did not seem to be exuding any threat, quite the reverse, actually. At least, until I asked her that. Her eyes flashed with a dagger sharpness, alert like a hunting cat.

 

“Was it worth it?”

 

Accepting the Root? Letting something else into my body, coiling around every inch of bone and _penetrating_ , until you could no more remove it than kill me in the process. The Root held my brittle bones together, fused into my skeletal structure, offering support and a life I would never otherwise have lived. There was no medicine, no treatment that could have done the same. The Root saved my life, and my life belonged to the Root. It was just that simple.

 

“I live. I would say so.”

 

The next burst of action was too quick for the average eye to follow. I twisted out of her grasp, the other hand smashing the glass into her face. Or where her face had been, as she ducked with almost inhuman speed, letting go even as I yanked, launching herself backwards and landing in a crouch like a panther. Our eyes met, hers feral and mine coolly intent.

 

“What a waste of good champagne.” She commented idly, eyes never leaving me. I grimaced.

 

“We could have been having a much better time than this.”

 

“Sorry, I don’t sleep with the infected, no matter how good-looking.”

 

Infected? Is that how she saw me? How short sighted. The Root was a gift to mankind. The Root asked nothing more than to live and spread, and gave us every advantage. There was no sacrifice in being bound, and freedom in submission. I was stronger, and I was alive. How could she not see this?

 

Well, at least she considered me good-looking. I could forgive her that much, then. Such a pity, she would have made such an interesting convert. I was so looking forward to getting to know her better too.

 

Those who would threaten the Root had to be eliminated. Survival above all.

 

My Root-enhanced body lunged forward without warning, but again she anticipated me, sidestepping swiftly and delivering a bone-shattering kick in passing. I felt something give way in my arm, and I bit back a howl even as the Root brutally pushed it back in place. I could feel it literally grinding back into position. Perks of the job, but it didn’t make it any less goddamn painful. My head jerked up to track the blur of motion as she slid the door to the balcony open in a rattle of sound.

 

Where was she planning to go? We were 60 floors up. I clambered to my feet, intent on following her, when I saw her perching precariously on the ledge, looking out into the darkness like a predatory bird before it took flight. Was that woman crazy?

 

“Riho!” A voice spiralled out of the darkness, and a sudden downdraft made me flinch on instinct, throwing a hand up to shield myself. Through my fingers I saw her straighten, balancing perfectly on the flimsy balustrade with the grace of a dancer, long hair streaming back in the wind.

 

She did not look back, thighs lowering for an instant into a coiled crouch and propelling herself off without hesitation, hands outstretched as she hung almost comically in midair like some cartoon character. I half expected her to drop like a stone right after, but her grasping hands seemed to snag some unseen line, and as I rushed forward to the railing, she was climbing a nearly invisible cord that was being reeled up into a silently hovering thopter painted black as night.

 

My fists clenched impotently on the granite as I watched the spy (what else could she be?) make good her escape as she was hauled into the stealth chopper. As the infernal machine made to veer away to safety, she looked back down, straight at me. Even at this distance, her smug expression was clearly visible to me. To rub salt into the wound, she winked and blew me a kiss, before the chopper pulled out of sight entirely.

 

Meddling vixen. I pounded a fist in frustration into the cold stone, ignoring the dust and chips I sent flying when I extricated it from the dent. I would have to be more careful from now on, if someone out there was watching us. Watching the Root.

 

I will live, no matter what the cost.

  
  
  
  


**Author's Note:**

> I shouldn't be starting new stories. Oh well.


End file.
